Call On Me
by SeaWolf7
Summary: Post-8x09. Contains spoilers. Days past his allotted watch necessity of Fred Jones, Castiel ponders his next move until he gets a late night call from Dean. (Very) Mild Destiel.


A/N: A quick drabble, post-8x09, so it does include a lot of spoilers.

You were warned.

* * *

The night echoed with the chattering of small animals; the far-off call of an owl, the gentle skittering of a raccoon's paws on the earth. It was tranquil, a place where Castiel could submerge himself in to meditation.

He knew his required length of time to watch over Fred Jones had since passed, but he found himself reluctant to leave this idyllic place. It gave him a place to allow for his head to clear. Without the pressing issue of returning to heaven pushing at the back of his grace, he allowed himself to sink into this seemingly utopian niche of the world.

However, for all the meditative time he now possessed, for the pleasant company these elder humans shared with him – there was a distinct missing element.

There was no mustiness to the clean facilities. All television sets were shut off at a prescribed time, so no late night reruns and infomercials. The food served was all of a more healthy variety; there were no burgers, although they did serve pie for dessert just a two short nights ago. He'd stared at the emptying tins of apple pie with a wistful smile, until his attention had been called elsewhere. The residents here had a sharp wit that was for sure, with a stubbornness to match. However, they did not hold a candle to green eyes, lit with ire and guilt, as they had outside the plant where they had rescued the prophet.

These pleasant elders were not the boys he knew. This was not the home he knew.

His cell phone rang shrilly from his pocket, cutting through the thick atmosphere like a hot knife. Withdrawing the chiming device, he looked at the caller id panel – _'Dean'_– and felt himself lighten slightly as he flipped the old Nokia phone open, pressing the send button before lifting the device to his ear.

"Hello Dean."

_"Hey, Cas..."_

Why did he sound so off? ...

He glanced up, eyeing the trajectory of the moon in the sky. Judging by its position, it was 1:57 in the morning. This assuming Dean was still in the same time zone as himself.

"Is everything alright?"

_"Yes."_ There was a long pause, before a sigh came through the small speaker. _"No. I don't know."_

Castiel's eyebrows drew together as he adjusted the phone. Something was bothering the hunter, although the odds of him speaking of the matter were infandecimal. "Dean..."

_"How's Fred?"_Dean interrupted, and the corner of Castiel's lips twitched. It would be just like the Righteous Man he knew, selfless and worried about others before his own needs.

"He is faring well." He reported dutifully. "However, I fear my necessity here is drawing to a close." Remorse had crept into his tone, surprising the angel. Although he had grown quite fond of this small place, he could not remain here forever. But where could he go?

_"You, uh... Did you figure out what you'll do next?"_Hesitation. It made him grow even more suspicious. What had happened since their parting?

"Not exactly. I am.. waiting."

_"For what?"_At least he was beginning to sound amused.

"For a sign."

_"Oh..."_

"Dean, where are you?" The longer the conversation ran, the more Castiel did not like the apathetic tone in the hunter's voice. Very few times could the angel recall hearing his human so desolate; when he had to lock Sam in the panic room in attempts to sober him of demon's blood, when Dean had believed the only option was to say Yes to Michael, when Dean had tried to talk him down of keeping himself enflamed within a straining vessel with thousands upon thousands of monster souls as company. It never harbored any good will.

_"Cas, no," _Dean sighed through the speaker, and Castiel could very well imagine him shaking his head. _"You got your personal shit to deal with."_

His lips thinned into a line. "Then why did you call me, if not to ask me to join you?" His tone came out softer than he intended, but it seemed to strike Dean momentarily speechless.

_"I just..."_The hunter trailed off into a large pause of silence.

"What is it?"

_"Nothin'.."_

Castiel did his best to not make any noise to show his kindling frustration. "Dean... My work here is finished. Where are you?" That tone did the trick, as the human soon relayed his position. "I will see you shortly." With that, he disconnected the call.

Gaze was sent sweeping across the courtyard, almost as if to imprint the land to his memory. He could recall it at a moment's notice in his memory, though he took a moment to savor the tranquility—something he was sure he had expunged from the Winchesters, or his trek across the globe so long ago in search of his father.

This was his creation, this small utopia in this tiny sect of the universe.  
It deserved to be admired.

With a flap of wings held between dimensions, the tall figure in the long tan trench coat disappeared from the garden that had helped restore him.

.-/|\-.

Upon touching down, Castiel observed the dark motel room quietly. It was a small motel in Louisiana, the room filled with cheap alligator knickknacks. There was the faint smell of mustiness that clung to the room, as well as tobacco along with the remnant scent of sex. There was only one bedroom in the room, upon which his hunter sat at the end. He rested his forehead into the cradle of his hand, the elbow of which arm rested against his knee. In his other hand a fifth of Jack dangled precariously from the stained carpet.

"Hello Dean," He tried calling, worry beginning to sink in once more. The bottle was almost empty.

Dean's gaze lifted slowly, taking in the sight of the angel before him. The corner of his lips twisted into a half smile before he raised his head to get a proper look. "Hey Cas.."

"Have you been drinking?"

The hunter blinked, lifting the fifth up to his eyelevel. "This?" He swirled the remaining amber liquid clockwise slowly. "Naaah."

"Somehow, I fail to believe you." Closing the distance between them, Castiel laid a hand gently on Dean's shoulder as the other attempted to pull the bottle away from him. "Perhaps you should lay down, Dean. We can talk in the morning—"

"No!" His free hand grappled to hold onto Castiel's wrist, even as the rest of his body fell back pliantly against the comforter. "No, no - don't leave." Dean shook his head childishly. "No more leaving."

_No more leaving...?_

Gently, he plied the bottle from Dean's hand, setting it down on the floor by the bed. His other hand skirted to cover the hand holding his wrist and slowly unfurling his fingers. Not once did he allow contact to break between them, holding onto the hunter's hand. The contact made him look marginally calmer than he had moments before. "I won't leave, Dean. But perhaps rest ought to be best for you."

"I'm not that drunk." Dean protested, slowly melting into the circles that Castiel was rubbing into the knuckles of his hand. " 'm fine."

With a small sigh, Castiel sat next to Dean on the small bed, keeping his hand cradled between his. Finally, the anticipation was growing to be too much, and he slowly ventured to ask, "Where's Sam?"

The hunter had stilled, tensing for long moments before opening up. He retold the events of the past few days-of the incompetent hunter trailing Benny, the vampire victims, of the fights between himself and Sam. Hunting the fledgling vampire together, Benny resisting his instincts when Dean's neck had been cut (Castiel had swept his fingertips over the long cut on his neck, healing the starting to heal injury quickly). Finally ending on Dean tricking Sam into going to check on some woman named Amelia, and Benny's whereabouts being unknown after-assumingly-ripping out the incompetent hunter's throat.

It made a bit more sense now, Dean's calling him but not wanting him to come join him. He'd sensed the growing tension between the brothers upon their reunion, but he could never have imagined things would escalate to this degree. With Benny also apparently turning back towards the dark side, he had felt alone.

They stayed like that for a long time after Dean had finished recollecting, Castiel sitting by his side and offering what comfort he could to the suffered human.

Suddenly, Dean squeezed his hand, garnering the angel's attention from his thoughts. "Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Where will you go now?" Even though they'd had this conversation before, but with the level of scrutiny Dean was placing him under something rang in the back of his mind that this was not a lapse in memory on the hunter's behalf.

"I do not know. I'm still awaiting a sign of where to go."

"Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

The hand between his squeezed, gripping one of his own before giving a gentle tug towards his body. "Will you stay?" The request was so soft; he almost would have assumed it to just be his imagination were he not so attuned to the man lying beside him.

But, to stay?  
Dean actually wanted him to stay?

He allowed himself to be tugged down to lay next to the hunter, a smile slipping onto his face. "Of course," Castiel gently squeezed Dean's hand between them, a growing reassurance that he would remain. "All you ever had to do was ask."


End file.
